


Like Bullets Through Glass

by Dragons4ever



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Mentions of Terrorism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 18:04:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1356928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragons4ever/pseuds/Dragons4ever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t want you to go,” she whispers, whispering is the only thing she can do without her voice sounding like it was ripping itself apart. “But I know you can’t stay.”<br/>Based on the Spy AU in chapter 2 of the 50+ followers collection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Bullets Through Glass

**Author's Note:**

> This came from a prompt from tumblr user the-self-diagnosis. She asked for smut and angst so I decided to explore the spy AU I came up with.  
> You don't have to have read the drabble this is based off but if you want to, you can.  
> Enjoy the sadness.

Maka sits in the bed they have shared for the past six months, legs covered by the quilt but knees brought to her chest as she rests against the headboard. She watches as he goes back and forth between the chest of drawers half filled with his clothes, the ensuite bathroom and the open suitcase sat upon the desk against the wall perpendicular to the bed.

Unlike six months ago when he was emptying the suitcase instead of filling it, this is not a joyous occasion. This moment is not filled with laughter and teasing, no flirting or half-hearted attempts to ogle each other without being caught are happening now. There is only sadness, regret and air clogged with words left unsaid.

Every now and then she has to look away from him and stare at the spotted pattern of her bedspread so as not to feel the unfamiliar sting in her eyes. She trained herself long ago to not cry in stressful situations, it did not become a CIA agent to cry during an interrogation. But she did not train herself for heartbreak.

She watches Soul’s movements and tries to analyze them like she had when they first met and she was still wary of the British agent. Were they civilians, his movements would probably be slow, sluggish, reluctant. They would speak volumes for how he felt.

But he is like her, he is trained to hide his emotions expertly.

Even so, she can read the tension in his shoulders and even the fact that he packs his suitcase so flawlessly, so organised, tells. Autopilot is a dangerous thing for a spy, it can reveal personal ticks or cause one to miss something, but it is also a comfort. One need not think when acting on autopilot, one merely does.

He zips his suitcase shut and that when autopilot is disengaged. He stands at the desk, simply staring at it, eyebrows furrowed, as though he not sure what to do now.

It is her cue to speak.

“Soul,” she says softly.

His red eyes flick to her and she feels something clench in her chest as he watches her. His uncanny observations made him an excellent spy but also a rather foreboding partner. One did not necessarily want to fuck someone who could read them so plainly.

“Soul,” she repeats when he remains silent. She unwraps an arm from around her knees and holds out her hand.

He stares at the appendage like he would a suspicious envelope, one that could just as easily provide the missing clue to an international puzzle as damn him to hell.

He swallows and murmurs, “Maka...”

She takes a deep breath, fighting down the growing wave of apprehension she has felt for the past week. “Please.”

He slowly rounds her side of the bed and it hurts to think that within twenty-four hours it will simply be _her_ bed. There will be no halves, just a whole solely belonging to her. It already feels too empty.

His tanned hand wraps around her paler, smaller one as he sits on the bed. She interlocks their fingers and squeezes. He stares at the wall opposite him and squeezes back.

“I should have booked a hotel room,” he says suddenly and her heart lurches painfully. “It would have been easily for both of us.”

“Soul.” Her voice shudders and she clenches her jaw as Soul slams his eyes shut, scrunching his face up.

“Maka, please,” he begs. “Don’t-don’t make this harder for us.”

She can’t stop the sting in her eyes and she can already feel the sob bubbling up in her throat. The next breath she takes chokes her. Soul opens his eyes and looks at her, liquid pooling at the corners. She scrambles so she is sitting on her knees instead of holding them and he pulls her to him. They wrap their arms tight around each other.

Tears drip slowly down her face and she tries not to make a sound, doesn’t want to draw attention to her agony. Her tears hit the white shirt he wore at work earlier and wet it, forming splotches of anguish. She is already dressed for bed, she wears a tank top so his tears simply hit her skin. They feel hot enough to scald her.

They hold each for a while, pressing faces into necks and trying to breathe in as much of each other as they can, trying to memorise the feel of each other. In less than twenty-four hours they will half a world away from each other.

Eventually she pulls away, not enough to leave his embrace, but enough so that she can see his face. It is splotchy and red, tear-tracks lining his cheeks. She can’t imagine she’s much better. She cups his cheeks and uses her thumbs to brush away stray tears, trying to smile but only managing a shaky upturn of the corners of her lips.

She presses her forehead to his and sniffs. He swallows as though he were trying to swallow back the tears and sadness that threatened to close his throat up.

“I don’t want you to go,” she whispers, whispering is the only thing she can do without her voice sounding like it was ripping itself apart. “But I know you can’t stay.” It’s a conversation they’ve had before.

“I don’t care where I am, I just want to be with you,” he replies, voice louder and strangled.

She sobs and presses her lips hard against his. For a moment he doesn’t respond and she regrets it, she’s only making this harder but then he kisses her back and she decides she doesn’t care anymore. She just wants to hold him, to be held by him. She loves him but she can’t say it, it’s too late and it would hurt too much and for a moment all she can hear is her parents screaming at each other.

He opens his mouth with her and his lips taste a little like salt but then his tongue is hot and insistent in her mouth and she doesn’t want to focus on the fact that they are both still crying.

They were trained to get through torture, they were trained to resist honey-pots but this was _real_ and _that’s_ why it hurts so goddamn much. It was real and she wants it to work out but it _can’t_. She almost wishes he were a honey-pot, then at least she could kick his ass without any guilt or _feelings_.

His white, untameable hair is soft between her fingers when she wraps her arms around his neck. His arms are almost suffocating around her waist, holding her so tightly against him it’s like he’s trying to melt her into his skin. But it’s not like she is any different.

She wants to be closer to him, she wants him to love her like they did last week before MI6 called him back, before their world started to break apart. She moves so she’s straddling his hips and sitting right in his lap, still sliding her tongue against his. Her hands leave his hair and trail to his neck, then follow the collar of his shirt to the buttons at the front.

She pauses for a moment, but he makes no move to stop her so she starts to pop the buttons slowly, gradually moving down his chest.

“Maka,” he murmurs against her lips. She pulls away and meets his eyes, pausing the process of opening his shirt. “Maka, I-.” He cuts himself off before he can say anything.

She swears she can feel his hand tremble against her back and he latches onto her hips suddenly with a grip tight enough to bruise. He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. Instead of continuing whatever he had wanted to say, he leans forward and starts to kiss her neck, pressing her flush against him with the hands on her hips. She thinks she knows what he had wanted to say and her heart stutters, both scared out of her mind at the implications and relieved he hadn’t gone through with actually verbalising his feelings.

She gets his shirt open and tries to tug it off his shoulders but can’t. He leans back and shrugs out of the piece of clothing. Meanwhile, she takes the opportunity to grab her tank top by the hem and pull it over her head. They both toss their respective clothes in the same direction before reaching for each other again.

His skin is unbelievably warm against hers, she loves the feel of his chest against hers. But she would love it more if it were hanging over her, pressing down against her with the force of gravity. She keeps a hand on the back of his neck to make sure their mouths stay connected as she trails a hand back down his chest to his belt.

She tugs on the buckle and he forces her to grind down on him with the hands on her hips. She feels him grunt into her mouth as his cock starts to harden in his lap. She fumbles with the stupid piece of leather for a moment before she undoes it, pulling it from the belt-loops and dropping it on the carpeted floor behind her.

Their grinding is slow and tortuous. She’s so hot for him, she wants to beg, _plead_ that he make love to her but she remembers she can’t use love but she can’t substitute it for fuck because that would hurt too. They’re too intimate for a simple fuck. She loves him, _she_ _loves him_ and god, it scares her worse than facing the Asura organisation did and they were some scary motherfuckers.

She sighs and hiccups when his hips buck up suddenly. He growls and pulls away from the kiss, diving back into her neck to nip at her skin roughly. Her breath catches and she digs her nails into his shoulder, grinding down hard. He groans around a mouthful of her throat and she’s burning.

When she hurriedly pulls away he looks at her with wide eyes, like he’s afraid she’s decided to do the right thing and push him away. He should know better really, she can’t push him away. Not now, not ever.

She scoots to the centre of their (her, fucking _her_ ) bed and tugs his arm so that he follows her. She lies down and he crawls over her, breath hard and fast as he starts to kiss her again. A leg hooks over his hips and pulls him down on top of her, forcing his errection to grind against her. She whimpers when he bites her lip.

She reaches between them to pull her sleeping shorts and panties down. He unbuttons his slacks and starts to push them and his boxers down. He stops to grab her bottoms and pull them down her long, smooth legs. His gaze trails down her legs as he tosses the clothes behind him blindly till he reaches her pussy. He looks like he wants to eat her and god _she wants_. But she also wants his dick in her, she wants to be connected to him, wants to scream his name as he comes inside her. He can eat her later if he wants.

A prod with her foot against the waistband of his slacks reminds him to get naked. It takes him some manoeuvring to take off not only his pants and boxers but also his socks. But once they’re gone, he is back over her and the look in his eyes is so intense her eyes starts to leak again. He sees the tears and leans down and kisses them away but that only causes more to form because he’s too good for her, too good for her and this life they both have, he deserves more than her blood-caked soul could ever offer.

“Soul, please,” she whispers as he continues to pepper her face with kisses meant to sooth but only hurt more. “Now, _please_.”

He presses a kiss to her lips before he leans over to her bedside cabinet for the condoms. For a single, terrifying moment she wants to tell him not to bother, she wants _all of him_ but that’s such a stupid thing to want, pregnancy is not something she wants. It wouldn’t keep them together anyhow, she didn’t keep her parents together.

Once the latex is rolled on she pulls him back down and kisses him, wrapping her arms and legs around him tightly. He has just about enough space to line up his cock and slide home into her. She makes a high-pitched sound, somewhere between a whine and a sigh and he merely groans deep in his throat, mouth closed to muffle it.

He rests on his elbows and they do not move for a few moments, simply relishing in the togetherness in the moment that might be their last. Eventually though, the tension deep in her abdomen is coiled too tight to simply lie there with him so she uses the heel of her foot against his ass to force him deeper inside her.

This causes him to start thrusting slowly and carefully. He pants in her ear and it causes shiver after shiver to travel down her spine, arching it and doing amazing things to her blood.

“Soul,” she moans and he groans something between a sound of pleasure and sound of pain.

She’s so wound up she hits her peak in hardly any time at all. She moans long and hard, tilting her head back, voice squeaking as the moan tapers off. Soul continues to move, only gradually gaining speed.

She barely has time to come down from her high before the coil is winding up again and she is panting and lost for breath. She wants to come again, wants to come with him so she cups his cheek and forces his mouth to meet hers. He groans as her tongue meets his and his thrusts pick up some force.

The kiss breaks when they become breathless, lips only brushing as they pant. He grabs her thigh as he rams into her long and hard. She cries out a “fuck” and he echoes the sentiment in her name. She digs her nails into his back as her body heats again.

Finally, gloriously, she comes for a second time and this time Soul presses himself as hard as he can into her and shudders, shouting into her mouth. His cock pulses inside her and she moans lowly.

They rest there again, shaky and almost too tired to cry. When he pulls away to dispose of the condom though, a single tear does escape him. She sees him wipe it away and pretends not to notice when he climbs into bed with her, wrapping his arm around her and tucking her under his chin.

She tells herself to sleep and simply enjoy the embrace while she can. She will probably never feel it again. She kisses his neck and doesn’t find sleep for another hour. Neither does he.

* * *

 At the airport the next morning, Maka comes with him all the way to the gate. He’ll be flying on a private jet, it offers him the freedom to read the files he will need for his next assignment in peace.

The blonde agent he has come to love puts on her bravest face and he can almost pretend he can’t read her well enough to see the heartbreak. Stein accompanies them but when Agent Jackie from MI6 comes over to greet them, he shakes Soul’s hand and leaves to wait with the car.

Jackie takes one look at the two of them and tells them she needs to check something and walks a little distance away, just enough for them to talk without being overheard. He would have to thank her later.

Soul turns to his partner and has two things to say to her, but only one he can actually say.

“You should come over to visit sometime,” he says, grinning with cheerfulness he does not feel. “You’d like the summer in Britain. At least when it isn’t flooding.”

She manages a facsimile of a smile. “I’ll have to do that then.”

They stand in silence for a moment and Soul can’t take it any longer. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her in for a kiss. They had hidden their relationship before but now he doesn’t care, he might never see her again and he loves her so he’s going to kiss her goddamnit. She doesn’t fight it, only kisses him back aggressively, just like she did the first time they kissed, back in the interrogation room in Langley.

They pull apart and something begins to take root in his mind. He had already asked his bosses in London if it were possible to skip this new mission and be Maka’s permanent partner, or at least take Maka with him. They were an effective team, they got results. But Sid had been adamant that _Soul_ is the right and only one for this particular job.

However, what if he gets this job done? What if he storms into Sid’s office, victorious and 100% efficient and fucking _demands_ that he become Maka’s permanent partner? If he makes his case straight in Sid’s face it could work. Face-to-face conversations were always more effective than other means of communication.

He tucks some ash-blonde hair behind Maka’s ear and really smiles at her. He is going to work this out.

“I’ll call you as soon as I land,” he says. “I promise. Just, actually pick up, OK?”

She sighs and nods. “I’ll actually turn the sound on for you.”

“Ah, so you finally admit that I’m special,” he teases and she chokes on a laughter-dry-sob hybrid.

He kisses her one more time before he grabs his suitcase and walks over to Jackie so they can get on the plane. At the gate he turns and waves to his beautiful partner. She waves back and he makes up his mind to tell her how he really feels once his assignment’s finished.

Once he’s seated and the plane begins to taxi, he takes the files Jackie removes from her briefcase. He doesn’t open them till the plane levels off. He will throw all he has into this because if he can succeed, he can return to Maka. If he can succeed, he can tell her he loves her. If he can succeed, maybe he can hear her murmur the words he desperately wants to hear into his skin as he makes love to her again.

He reads the files and then after three hours, once they’re far over the Atlantic, he puts them away and decides to take a nap to properly digest the information. It’s only after he falls asleep that the bomb goes off. He doesn’t feel a thing.

He was dreaming of her, just like he always did.


End file.
